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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745317">Rich As Honesty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/55vre55/pseuds/55vre55'>55vre55</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Treasure Island - Lavery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Based off the National Theatre production, F/M, Female Jim Hawkins, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kid Fic, National Theatre - Freeform, Nothing explicit, Pirates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:08:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25745317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/55vre55/pseuds/55vre55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"No legacy is so rich as honesty."<br/>-William Shakespeare</p><p>The sun is just barely grazing the horizon when he arrives; it won’t fully set for another hour yet. He’s timed his arrival to be the middle of the supper rush, hoping to slip in unnoticed while she’s preoccupied.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jim Hawkins/John Silver, Jim Hawkins/Long John Silver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If you're here, I hope you know the drill by now. Based on the 2015 National Theatre production of Treasure Island with Arthur Darvill and Patsy Ferran.</p><p>I think??? I actually??? wrote something happy for these two??? Or at least not super angsty.</p><p>I guess that's what happens when I throw a child into the mix.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun is just barely grazing the horizon when he arrives; it won’t fully set for another hour yet. He’s timed his arrival to be the middle of the supper rush, hoping to slip in unnoticed while she’s preoccupied.</p>
<p>The inn looks different from his last visit, although that can only be expected since his last visit ended with windows smashed and more than one dead body on the premises. The paint is new, or at least less than a handful of years old, and it’s got tidy new shutters and a welcoming lamp over the front door. He tries not to seethe at the thought that it was likely all paid for with <em>his</em> gold.</p>
<p>Jim had earned her share, after all, with her map and her smart-as-paint mind to figure out Flint’s riddles. Not like the rest of them.</p>
<p>He follows a couple from the town inside, hat pulled low over his face, playing down his limp. He’s glad for the new leg, which is much easier to hide under broad-legged trousers. No one can tell he’s only got the one leg with this false one in place.</p>
<p>Tonight, he needs to be a man with two legs if he wants to go unnoticed.</p>
<p>As expected, the place is busy, full of chatter and gossip on a Saturday evening. A skinny girl weaves in between tables carrying a tray of drinks, and he does a double-take, but the long blonde plait over one shoulder marks her a stranger.</p>
<p>He slips through the crowd to a table against the wall by the hearth. The corner table would be too suspicious for a strange man on his own. This one provides a decent view of the room and, critically, the door into what must be the kitchen. That must be where she is, he thinks, if she’s here at all.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she’s not here.</p>
<p>The blonde girl comes over to his table after a minute. She’s pretty up close, just like so many women he’s encountered in the past six years. In another life, he’d be tempted to ask if she herself was on the menu.</p>
<p>But not this life.</p>
<p>Not since Jim.</p>
<p>He had her, just the once, and it ruined him for other women.</p>
<p>Flint would call him a pathetic lovesick fool if he saw him now.</p>
<p>He asks the girl for a pint of ale, some stew and bread. Something hearty and warming against the chill outside. She gives him a smile meant for the weary traveler she must think he is, before whisking off to another table.</p>
<p>A tankard thunks onto his table after a minute or two; a bowl of rich brown stew and a chunk of bread larger than his fist follows several minutes later. He continues to watch the room casually as he eats and drinks, hoping and fearing that he’ll see a familiar face at any moment. He barely remembers any of the others. If any of them are here, they might very well recognize him before he them.</p>
<p>But no one pays any mind to him, and he is able to eat his stew in peace.</p>
<p>Until a tug comes on his sleeve.</p>
<p>Startled, he looks round to find a small boy staring up at him with wide eyes.</p>
<p>“Are you a pirate?”</p>
<p>Silver stares at him, bemused. The boy’s clothes are neat, if a bit shabby, his nose too big for his round face. His sandy hair looks as if it’s been combed and then messed up again by little hands frustrated with being forced to sit still.</p>
<p>“Do I look like a pirate?” he asks, turning a bit in his seat to look at the boy. His clothing is plain, his chains and rings stowed in his pack for the night. He knew he needed to look as inconspicuous as possible if he was going to get anywhere near her. There should be nothing marking him as more than a common traveler.</p>
<p>“You have a blue feather on your hat.” The boy points up to where, indeed, he’d tucked one of Captain Flint’s loose feathers long ago. Silver spares a moment of grief for the bird he was never able to find after digging himself out of the cave-in. He’s distracted from it, however, by the boy’s next words. “Mummy says pirates have blue-and-gold parrots, like your feather.”</p>
<p>He seems to have forgotten how to breathe for a moment as he realizes why the boy’s gaze feels so familiar.</p>
<p>He has <em>Jim’s</em> eyes.</p>
<p>How stupid of him, to think she wouldn’t have moved on. And fairly soon after, too, if his guess that this boy must be about four years old is correct.</p>
<p>“Bought this hat in Port Royal, I did,” he says smoothly with a smile. “No idea where the feather came from. Who knows? Maybe it did belong to a pirate before me.”</p>
<p>The boy doesn’t look too satisfied with that answer, but they’re both distracted by the kitchen door swinging open with a loud <em>bang</em>.</p>
<p>“Get <em>out</em>, you menace!” and <em>god</em>, he’d know that shout anywhere. Even after six years.</p>
<p>He’s so caught up in her, her voice, her face, that he barely notices the blue streak she’s chasing out of the kitchen with a broom.</p>
<p>The familiar rustling of feathers and weight on his shoulder, however, brings him back to himself abruptly. “<em>Pieces of eight</em>,” comes the squawk in his ear, and the boy laughs.</p>
<p>“Flint likes you!” he exclaims, grinning. The overwhelming chatter in the rest of the room has died down with Jim’s emergence from the kitchen, and Silver realizes he’s drawn exactly the sort of attention he wanted to avoid. Not even the unexpected relief of knowing his bird is still alive can shake the nervous anticipation he feels as Jim looks straight at him.</p>
<p>Recognition and shock are plain on her face. The broom falls from her hand with a clatter.</p>
<p>“Damned bird,” he mutters under his breath, but Flint only chirrups smugly in his ear, talons tightening on his shoulder.</p>
<p>Jim recovers herself fairly quickly and smiles at the room at large. “My apologies for the outburst, everyone. Please, carry on!” Slowly, the noise in the room picks back up, though Silver still sees more than one person glance his direction out of the corner of his eye.</p>
<p>He himself can’t look away from Jim as she picks her way across the room, winding between tables with the ease of practice. She stops on the far side of his table, and though her gaze meets his, she doesn’t address him.</p>
<p>“Darling, come here,” she says firmly, beckoning with two fingers. The boy obediently goes to her and hugs her leg. Her hand rests familiarly, maternally, on his head.</p>
<p>“Mummy, doesn’t he look like a pirate?” he asks excitedly, bouncing a bit, and Jim smiles down indulgently at him.</p>
<p>“He does, doesn’t he?” she agrees. “But no pirate would <em>dare</em> show his face in our inn, now, would he?”</p>
<p>Her voice as she speaks to her son is light, airy, but it nonetheless slips between his ribs like a knife.</p>
<p>This was a mistake.</p>
<p>The worst fucking mistake he’s ever made.</p>
<p>And all for a woman, no less.</p>
<p>Her gaze darts back to him only for a moment, but it’s enough to pin him in place just as he considers making a break for it. “Darling, I want you to go find Aunt Diana in the parlor and stay with her, alright? Ask her to read you a story until it’s time for bed.” Her tone is gentle but brokers no argument from her son, who nods and scarpers off between the tables.</p>
<p>Silver opens his mouth to speak, unsure for once in his life of what to say, but her now fierce gaze makes the unknown words die in his throat.</p>
<p>“<em>You</em>,” Jim says, quiet and low and dangerous, “are going to <em>stay here</em>. And don’t you <em>dare</em> move until everyone else is gone.”</p>
<p>She might not be pointing a pistol at him this time, but her threat feels a hundred times more deadly than it did down in those tunnels.</p>
<p>Silver swallows hard and nods, unable to speak. Jim scowls at him for another long moment, gaze searching his face for… something. Whatever it is, she must find it, because she relaxes slightly. She beckons over the blonde girl, who has been lingering completely unsubtly a few tables away, and takes one of the drinks from her tray.</p>
<p>“On the house,” she says, setting it in front of him. Then she’s gone, back to the kitchen.</p>
<p>The girl stares at him until he looks sharply up at her. She squeaks and scurries off to another table.</p>
<p>On his shoulder, Flint nestles against his temple, making low noises in her throat. Silver sighs and slumps in his seat.</p>
<p>“Well, that could have gone worse, couldn’t it have?” he says to her under his breath. His fingers absently stroke her breast. “Could have gone better, granted, but at least it wasn’t worse.” He’s missed having his bird to talk to.</p>
<p>Maybe he’d have come up with a better plan than just showing up out of the blue if he’d had Flint around to strategize with.</p>
<p>The crowd in the dining room gradually thins, but Silver ignores any curious glances sent his way. He nurses his second drink as he thinks about the last time he’d seen her.</p>
<p>He’d been so convinced she would stay on his side, especially once they’d been together. He realized, after, that it was just lust and love clouding his mind. She had liked him, and wanted him, of that he’s sure; her body had been so responsive to his. But her desires weren’t enough to twist her sense of honor and duty—her innate <em>goodness</em>—into following him.</p>
<p>She’d been nervous when he had led her away from where the swabs were sleeping. But she’d accepted his kisses, and his touch, her body warming to him so sweetly when he’d found home between her legs. He had tried to be gentle with her as he gave her what they both wanted, what they’d been dancing around for weeks. He can still clearly picture how beautiful her face was as she’d shaken apart around him, stars reflected in her eyes. The image is burned forever into his mind.</p>
<p>No woman since has compared.</p>
<p>But Jim has clearly not had the same trouble moving on from him.</p>
<p>He only looks up from his ruminations when the front door slams. The last customer is gone; the girl with the blonde plait stands in the doorway to the kitchen, whispering heatedly with someone. Finally, she lets out a frustrated huff of anger and pulls the hood of her cloak up over her head. She throws a scowl at him as she strides across the room and out the door.</p>
<p>At last, he is alone.</p>
<p>He wants to go into the kitchen, to corner Jim and kiss her, perhaps more, but she had told him to stay put. His feet, one true, one false, are frozen to the floor as he waits.</p>
<p>Finally, she appears, not from the kitchen as he expected, but down the stairs at the front of the room. She halts at the foot of the stairs, staring at him, one hand white-knuckled on the railing.</p>
<p>He doesn’t move, still frozen by her words, but he has managed to recover his voice from before.</p>
<p>“Jim,” he croaks, something between adoration and longing on his face.</p>
<p>She flinches, almost imperceptibly, but her feet carry her to his table once more. Her arms fold over her chest, closing herself off to him. “Silver.” Her voice is cool, with a touch of haughtiness. Nothing like how she used to say his name. He wonders who taught her that trick; his Jim could never have sounded so aloof from anything.</p>
<p>Flint screeches and leaps from his shoulder, flapping over to land heavily on hers. Jim barely moves under the weight, obviously well used to it by now. Silver feels a bit bereft at the loss, especially when Flint combs her beak through Jim’s unruly curls. She used to do that with <em>his</em> hair.</p>
<p>“I’m glad she’s alright,” he says with a nod towards Flint. “I searched and searched for her after we was separated. Should’ve known she’d’ve followed you home.” He smiles a bit, hoping that talking about the bird might soften her expression.</p>
<p>Jim scratches the parrot’s head, and her face does indeed relax a tiny amount. “You’re supposed to be dead,” is all she says, however. Even if he might have expected it, it still makes him draw back a bit.</p>
<p>“Thought I <em>was</em> dead, darlin’,” he says roughly and drains the dregs of his tankard. “Woke up under piles of rock and dirt to everyone else either dead or gone. Took days to get myself out. Months to get off that damned island.”</p>
<p>The line of her mouth thins a bit in response. She just keeps <em>staring</em> at him, and he feels like a butterfly pinned to a card.</p>
<p>He looks her over. Her figure has filled out some, especially around her hips, though she could likely still pass for a boy in baggier clothes than the shirt and breeches she has on now. The way she holds herself speaks to a confidence that his Jim never had.</p>
<p>“You have a son,” he says, unable to ignore it, but equally unable to twist his tongue around the word <em>husband</em>. “He was quite… inquisitive.” His voice is polite and distant, and he can’t decide if he actually wants to know about the boy or forget he and his father ever existed.</p>
<p>“He’s a very curious boy.” Her voice is fond as she speaks of him, and Silver feels oddly envious. “Takes after his father that way.”</p>
<p>Silver swallows past the traitorous lump in his throat. He doesn’t want to know about whatever handsome idiot from this tiny town managed to turn her head after everything they shared together. “You and he have done a fine job fixin’ this place up. With my—<em>the</em> treasure, I expect?”</p>
<p>Jim has an odd glint in her eye, her fond smile at the thought of her son now shifted into something strained that he can’t identify. “Yes, my share paid for quite a few improvements around here. We even have a henhouse out back, now.” His heart clenches for one of the things he once promised <em>he’d</em> buy for her. “Grandma was quite happy with her hens, before she passed.”</p>
<p>It’s strange, but he actually feels a twinge of sorrow at that. “I’m sorry for your loss, Jim,” he says quietly, and means it. She never told him the details, but he picked up enough from her stories to know that the old woman had been her only family left in the world.</p>
<p>Jim merely shrugs one shoulder. “She was happy, and she got to meet her great-grandson before the end. It’s been almost five years since we lost her.”</p>
<p>He might be imagining the pointed tone when she says how long it’s been. “So, he’s—he’s five years old? What’s his name?” he asks, for lack of anything else to say. Talking with her used to be so <em>easy</em>, when he knew what he wanted from her.</p>
<p>Now, he feels unmoored by the knowledge that he’s been replaced.</p>
<p>The odd, strained smile is back on Jim’s face. “Almost six, actually,” she says quietly. “His birthday’s in a few weeks. I was thinking of taking him to Bristol for it. He loves everything about ships, and I want to show him all the tall ships in the harbor.”</p>
<p>Almost <em>six</em>? Was he stuck on that island longer than he’d calculated? He had thought he was counting the days accurately, but perhaps the ghosts haunting that place had actually gotten to him after all.</p>
<p>“If he’s anythin’ like his mother, I’m sure he’ll love it,” he says, covering up his bewilderment. “I’m headed to Bristol myself, goin’ to see if any of my old haunts might be in need of an old sea cook.” He grins. She doesn’t need to know that, three hours ago, he had absolutely no intentions of leaving this inn until he’d either satisfied his need to fuck her again or convinced her to run back to sea with him. Preferably both.</p>
<p>“Is that so?” she hums, and she sounds suspicious. His ability to lie to her seems to have lost its edge somewhat, run down by the desire to have her be his forever.</p>
<p>“Got to find some way to earn my keep, darlin’, now I don’t have a treasure to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life.” He means it lightly, but he can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice as he says it.</p>
<p>Jim’s face takes on a shade of guilt. “Silver—”</p>
<p>He cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “Leave it, Jim. <em>You</em> don’t owe me anythin’. You more’n earned your share.” Now, if he were ever in a position to get into Squire Stupid’s treasury, that’d be a different story…</p>
<p>Jim opens her mouth to say something else, but he doesn’t get the chance to find out what, because she’s interrupted by a call of “Mummy?” from the stairs. The boy is standing there, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with a fist.</p>
<p>Flint flutters off her shoulder to a nearby chair as Jim goes to him. “What’s wrong, darling?” she asks, scooping him up in her arms with ease. A kiss to his forehead, his small hands automatically clinging to her shirt, and Silver’s chest feels tight as he watches them together.</p>
<p>The boy mumbles something about a bad dream into Jim’s shoulder, and she gives him another kiss on the top of his head. “Shh, love, it’s alright. What do we say to bad dreams? Do you remember?”</p>
<p>A nod, and his small voice says, “I’m not scared of you.”</p>
<p>Jim smiles and rubs her hand over his back. “Very good, darling. It can’t hurt you if it’s just a dream.” She holds him close, swaying gently.</p>
<p>Silver feels like he’s intruding on something intensely private. He looks away.</p>
<p>After a minute of staring at the rough woodgrain of the table, he hears, “Mr. Pirate! You’re still here!”</p>
<p>Silver looks up again to find the boy smiling at him over Jim’s shoulder. He smiles back, hesitantly. Flint adds in her own screech of “<em>Pirate</em>!”</p>
<p>Jim actually laughs at that.</p>
<p>He’d forgotten how wonderful her laugh was.</p>
<p>“He’s an old friend, love,” Jim tells her son, and Silver feels foolish for how the word <em>friend</em> makes his hopes lift. “His name is John, not Mr. Pirate.”</p>
<p>“Like me!”</p>
<p>The boy sounds thrilled as he says it, but it makes Silver’s blood run cold. He barely hears Jim tell her son that yes, they have the same name. He can only stare in shock at the boy as he giggles in delight in his mother’s arms.</p>
<p>He watches, mind a thousand miles away on a swampy island under the stars, as Jim kisses her son and carries him back over to the stairs. “Good night, Mr. John!” breaks through the blank buzzing in his brain, and he automatically waves back at the boy before he disappears back upstairs, Flint winging after him.</p>
<p>Jim disappears for a minute, but he barely has time to wonder where to before a bottle of whiskey appears at his elbow.</p>
<p>“You look like you need that,” Jim says heavily as she settles into the chair across from him. She has her own bottle, and takes a hearty swig from it before setting it sharply onto the table.</p>
<p>Silver grasps his own bottle and downs at least four swigs before he can find his voice again. Even then, he only manages one rough word.</p>
<p>“John?”</p>
<p>Jim meets his gaze evenly. She never used to look at him quite so boldly; she was always the first to look away if he met her eyes. Now, he’s the one to glance away briefly.</p>
<p>“Yes, John. After his father.”</p>
<p>He has no idea how her voice is so calm when his world is being tilted like a ship being careened.</p>
<p>“He’s—?” He can’t even finish the question.</p>
<p>“I got sick, coming home from Kingston.” Her voice has barely any inflection, but each word feels like a chip of ice down his spine. “Fever, cough, vomiting, rash. Kept vomiting the whole way home even after the rest had passed. By the time we got home, and any of us figured it was more than just a sickness, it was…” Her calm demeanor slips, and she swallows hard. “Too late. I wanted him, and I kept him.”</p>
<p>He takes another swig of his drink, hand shaking around the bottle.</p>
<p>“He’s… He’s beautiful,” he manages, still reeling at the news. But he hopes she can hear the truth in his words. Indeed, a small, proud, smile touches her lips.</p>
<p>“Jim, I—” he adds, hoarsely, “I never—never <em>meant</em> for you to… I should have…”</p>
<p>“Stop,” she says sharply, smile replaced suddenly with a scowl. His mouth snaps shut in surprise. “He is the best thing in my life. So don’t you dare say he shouldn’t have happened.”</p>
<p>His chest is tight at her fierce defense of her son. Nothing at all like his own mother.</p>
<p>He pushes that thought away. “You shouldn’t have had to care for him on your own,” he persists stubbornly, but she just snorts a laugh at that.</p>
<p>“Despite who his father is, despite where he came from, that boy has never lacked for a family in this town. He’s got at least a dozen aunts and uncles who help me care for him. He’s not at all the lonely child I was.” She takes another drink, then eyes him over the bottle.</p>
<p>“I’m not expecting anything from you, Silver.”</p>
<p>He should feel relief at those words, relief that he’s not supposed to suddenly become a father in her eyes. He’d never known his father, and the long string of father-figures he followed from childhood to manhood—Andrews, Pew, Gates, Smythe, Flint—were hardly the best examples.</p>
<p>But instead of relief, his chest oddly feels as if it’s been hollowed out and left empty, gaping open around something he didn’t know was missing until this very moment.</p>
<p>“Nothin’? You sure?” he asks, leaning back in his seat, trying to be casual. He’s not sure if he’s asking for verification, or testing that there’s really not anything she wants from him. His false foot accidentally knocks against her legs under the table and he winces, shifting it away.</p>
<p>Jim raises an eyebrow at him. “John is happy, healthy, and carefree. My inn is thriving, thanks to <em>your</em> treasure.” Damn, she <em>had</em> caught his slip earlier when he’d called it his. “If you plan on just drifting back out of our lives again, and never coming back, I won’t even consider notifying the authorities.”</p>
<p>His stomach sinks a bit, but he should have expected it. Damn her and her <em>goodness</em>, the same thing that had cost him her loyalty so many years ago.</p>
<p>“If I <em>don’t</em> plan on just driftin’ away?” he presses, not sure why. He knows he’s not cut out to be a father. But he couldn’t stay away from Jim for even a year after he finally made it back to England. Now that he knows he has a <em>son</em> here as well…</p>
<p>Her mouth tightens again into a thin line. “John doesn’t know who his father is,” she says. “As far as he knows, his father died at sea before he was even born. And I’d like to keep it that way.” He can’t fault her logic; who knows what it would do to the boy to know his father was a wanted pirate.</p>
<p>“<em>But.</em>” She eyes him for a long moment, searching his face again. He, absurdly, holds his breath.</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em> been thinking of hiring a cook. With as busy as we’ve gotten, I can’t manage all the cooking and all the guests on my own while also keeping an eye on him.” She snorts. “In fact, that’s how he managed to slip out of the kitchen and find you, I expect.”</p>
<p>He can’t help it. He grins widely, both at the fact that she needs a cook and the idea that his son appears to have a promising talent for sneaking.</p>
<p>Jim rolls her eyes at his expression.</p>
<p>“It would just be a <em>trial</em>, for now. Say, two weeks. You can see if you like cooking here, I can see if the guests like your food. I’ll let you have a room for that long.” She sighs. “You can get to know John, so long as you don’t say anything about who his father is or tell him any of your gory stories.”</p>
<p>He wonders how much of this trial will involve her deciding if she can trust him, if she can still stand to be around him after everything he did. He knows his cooking will certainly not be the thing that forces his departure, if she does end up kicking him out.</p>
<p>He hopes she doesn’t end up kicking him out.</p>
<p>His grin, impossibly, widens, and he holds out his hand. “Deal.”</p>
<p>When she takes his hand to shake on it, he instead pulls hers to his lips, kissing the back of it.</p>
<p>He's positive he couldn’t possibly imagine the blush that spreads across her cheeks at his actions.</p>
<p>Two weeks will be <em>plenty</em> of time for them to become… reacquainted.</p>
<p>And who knows? Perhaps he <em>will</em> decide to stay. Stranger things have happened.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Interlude 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Six years is a long time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I knew my life was going to be different as soon as the doctor confirmed my worst fears.</p>
<p>That bastard, that scoundrel, that <em>pirate</em>, had done more than just taken my maidenhead and my heart to his grave. I raged, I cried, I fretted for days after she told me it was true.</p>
<p>She, in her straightforward way, told me there were things that could be done, steps that could be taken to remedy the situation. I was sorely tempted, as I thought on all the trouble and heartache and grief that man had caused not only for me, but for all of my friends.</p>
<p>And yet, I couldn’t silence the part of me that said this was all I had left of him. A couple of stained shirts, a few cheap trinkets left in a sack in our old bunk, and this.</p>
<p>Our child, growing within me.</p>
<p>I knew, as soon as I thought the words <em>our child</em>, that I would keep him.</p>
<p>I knew, even then, that it would be a boy.</p>
<p><em>John</em>.</p>
<p>Grandma was horrified when I first told her, ready to set sail herself and hunt down any man who had dared to touch me. I’m not sure exactly what Doctor Livesey told her after that – perhaps the truth, or part of it at least – but she eventually calmed. She never again asked after the father, even if I found her more than once staring out to sea with an uncharacteristic anger on her face.</p>
<p>I found some small comfort in the fact that the gold we’d taken from the island could be used to rebuild the old Benbow back to its former glory. He’d never get to claim the share that was rightfully his, but it would instead be used to shelter and clothe and feed his child.</p>
<p>Away from the maddening aura of the island, Ben Gunn proved to be an invaluable addition to our household. He endeared himself to Grandma straight away by having nothing but compliments for her cooking. He helped me with the repairs to the inn until I was forced on the doctor’s orders to leave the remainder to hired help. Once he regained his wits, he even proved to have a good head for reading and writing and sums. His calculations saved me from spending too much of the gold at once, as he often reminded me that I needed to think of the future.</p>
<p>My child’s future.</p>
<p>John’s arrival on this earth was largely unremarkable. Messy, and painful, yes, worse than anything I’d ever felt. But I felt as if the very universe were laughing with me at the irony when Doctor Livesey placed him into my arms.</p>
<p>For he was born on the 16<sup>th</sup> of April, exactly one year to the day since I’d met his father in a cramped galley and tried to stab him with a carving fork.</p>
<p>My life did indeed change after that. With the repairs to the inn complete, we reopened with fanfare and started seeing more customers than I could ever remember. John was doted upon by many who visited the inn, be they townsfolk stopping in for supper, my father’s old fishermen friends gambling the night away, or travelers passing through on the way to Bristol. Flint, that ridiculous parrot, who’d followed us all the way home from the island, sat over John’s cradle like a guard dog, chasing off anyone who seemed a bit too interested in him.</p>
<p>Our joy was muddled with sorrow, however, only three months into this new life. Grandma, my constant, immovable star, my Polaris, fell ill.</p>
<p>Her death still weighs on me, even as I know she would delight in how her grandson has grown.</p>
<p>After Grandma died, Ben convinced me to hire a cook. It certainly made caring for the rest of the inn easier, even if the man’s food never quite tasted right. He was replaced by another, and another, a string of men and women who came highly recommended, and who pleased my customers. And yet I always eventually found some fault with them.</p>
<p>The months passed, and I felt I could settle into this life, even if my heart still sometimes ached to be back out at sea. John kept me tied to my home. I knew I would do whatever it took to protect him and let him be the happy, bubbly child he deserved to be.</p>
<p>Then Ben left.</p>
<p>It was good, that he went – off to study at Oxford and do something more important with his brilliant mind than balance the inn’s accounts every evening. I am glad that he has found such happiness in his studies, learning everything he possibly can, as if to make up for all that time he lost.</p>
<p>Ben was the first person I tumbled into bed with, after John. Both of us drunk on the brandy I’d bought him to toast to his departure; both of us dreading being apart for the first time in two years.</p>
<p>When we woke in the morning, limbs tangled together under his sheets, I was relieved that he instinctively knew the same thing I did: that it would never happen again. Ben remains a dear friend, and one I love with all my heart. But we were not meant to be together.</p>
<p>But that night convinced me that I did not have to be alone.</p>
<p>Anne was the next—the daughter of a farmer from outside Black Cove. She was a year, perhaps two, older than I, with beautiful red hair that I envied. She often came to town with her father to trade, both of them staying at the inn for a night at a time rather than make the journey twice in one day. It didn’t take much to persuade her to let me into her bed, late after everyone else was asleep. She was glad to teach me anything I asked. She knew it was just for fun, which was all I wanted.</p>
<p>The rest have mostly blurred together in the past years – a stream of faces and names. Some I remember clearly: Bernard, the carpenter, whose fingers felt rough with calluses but were so gentle when they touched me; Louisa, on her way to meet her betrothed in London, who kissed me until it felt like my knees had melted; Henry, a fisherman only seven years my elder, who had me against the cellar wall in the dark, and his beard almost reminded me of the man I swore I no longer missed. Others I scarcely remember, or mix up when I try to recall them now.</p>
<p>And never, <em>never</em>, more than a single night with any of them.</p>
<p>I only made the mistake of bedding my cook once. After, he wrongly assumed I was his for the taking from then on. When sacking him wasn’t a clear enough message, I had to point my pistol at him to get him to leave Black Cove. I’m fortunate that he didn’t notice my hand shaking on the grip and that John was nowhere near our argument.</p>
<p>After that, I refused to hire another cook. I brought in girls from the town to help with the laundry and with serving food, and then eventually a lad to help keep our small stable in order. I could look after John and do all the cooking myself, with them around to take care of the rest.</p>
<p>As he grew, it became clear that John had inherited his father’s curiosity and intellect in addition to his nose. My friends helped entertain him whenever I was too busy, but I relished the times I got to spend alone with him in the kitchen. I read to him, from my favorite books as well as new ones sent home by Ben, but more often I told him stories. Sometimes they were my own and sometimes they were ones I’d heard from travelers or townsfolk.</p>
<p>But every so often, I slipped in stories about his father. A man who was a fearless pirate, who crossed oceans and escaped everything from prison to storms on his quest to find his treasure. It was easiest before he learned to talk, when I could tell him everything without fear that he might repeat it. As he got older, I had to temper my stories, make them safer for his young ears to hear. I never wanted John to question why his father was gone, so I was honest when I told him he’d died, even if I left out the precise cause of it.</p>
<p>Perhaps I started to believe he was dead as much as John did.</p>
<p>Until the night I emerged from my kitchen to find my son talking to that very same dead man.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Working at the Benbow Inn isn’t so different from any of the other places he’s drifted through in his life. All places like this have the same routine: up before dawn to stoke the fires; simple foods like bacon, eggs, and coffee for breakfast for travelers eager to get going to their next destination; plain, cold fare on hand for anyone who happens to stop by at midday looking for a quick meal; rich stews and roasted meat or fish for the much larger supper crowd. Wash the dishes throughout the day and leave the kitchen tidy for the next morning.</p><p>Jim has kept this inn’s kitchen well stocked and organized. It’s laid out in much the same fashion as their old galley on the <em>Hispaniola</em>, and he wonders if that’s by design or coincidence. Either way, he fits into the kitchen as if it were made for him.</p><p>But each day he spends at the Benbow Inn, he finds things that are unique to this place.</p><p>The first day, it’s the looks he gets from the small staff Jim keeps. He’s used to admiration or fear depending on the crowd and how much they’ve heard about the legendary Long John Silver. But when Jim introduces them—Sara, the girl with the blond plait who’d been waiting tables the night before; Abigail, who comes by in the mornings to help with the laundry; and Thomas, her part-time stable-hand—he gets curiosity more than anything else.</p><p>He wonders what Jim has told them about him, if anything.</p><p>The second day, it’s the large crowd of fishermen who come up from the docks after dusk, laughing and gambling well into the evening. Jim spends long portions of the evening hovering around their table, laughing along with them. Her sense of humor is far darker, far bawdier, than his Jim’s had been.</p><p>He would have half a mind to be something like jealous of the salt-worn men with their graying beards were it not for the fact that Jim still glances towards the kitchen – towards <em>him</em> – every few minutes.</p><p>The third day, it’s the knowledge that the rear parlor is only for Jim’s personal guests, as it partially doubles as her study. He doesn’t know who is more surprised when he enters the room with supper for her only to find her sitting opposite that bloody interfering doctor. It’s a miracle, or rather, Jim’s influence, that saves him from a pistol shot to the head. He resolves to stay out of the parlor from then on when Jim has that particular visitor.</p><p>Each day, a new surprise, a new part of his routine to get used to.</p><p>And throughout it all, the most unexpected, startling, wonderful surprise: his new shadow.</p><p>At least twice a day, he looks up from his work to find Jim’s bright eyes and an inquisitive nose poking over the edge of the kitchen counter, accompanied by a small voice. “What are you making?”</p><p>Gods, but that must be <em>his </em>overly-large nose. It’s certainly not the button that adorns Jim’s face.</p><p>He answers the boy’s question dutifully each time, describing what he’s making and how. But each time, it inevitably leads only to more questions, and more questions, until Jim finally appears in the kitchen and collects the lad with an exasperated sigh.</p><p>Silver thinks it must just be the novelty of having a new person in the house that draws the child to him.</p><p>No other reason.</p><p>As the days pass, the boy quickly moves on from questions about his cooking to questions about his life. He’s especially curious about why Flint likes him so much, when she ignores or actively torments everyone else.</p><p>“Except me and Mummy. Flint likes to ride on Mummy’s shoulder, but she’s too heavy for me. But she sleeps in my room almost every night!”</p><p>Silver spins one tale after another about why the old parrot has taken a shine to him, but the boy never seems fully convinced, always asking again the next day.</p><p>The lad also insists on calling him “Mr. John”, far too enamored with their shared name to use “Silver”, no matter how often he suggests it. It should irritate him; he’s always hated his given name for how bloody common it is.</p><p>On his first ship, when he’d run away from home as just a lad, there’d been no fewer than eight men called John aboard. He’s grateful to this day that his nickname, ironic as it was at the time, wasn’t as horrible as the unfortunate moniker bestowed upon John-Feed-the-Fish.</p><p>What’s worse than the boy calling him “Mr. John”, however, is that <em>Jim</em> picks up on it, referring to him as such any time she discusses him with her child. Every time she says it, he catches her looking at him, eyes dancing with mirth. He can’t recall when the last time was that she looked at him with so much amusement, if she ever has.</p><p>So he grows to accept his new name, just as he has so many others in his lifetime.</p><p>He forces himself to avoid all thoughts of the other, more familiar, names the boy could call him. None of those sit right with him, not when he’s only known the boy for a handful of days.</p><p>Even taking into account the interruptions caused by his new shadow, it’s easy to fit into life at the Benbow. The room Jim had given him on the ground floor at the back of the building is small, but not cramped, with a bed long enough to fit his tall frame comfortably. He resists unpacking his few belongings for the first few days, but soon enough his bits and bobs make their way into the tiny wardrobe.</p><p>He refuses to admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but he <em>wants</em> to stay.</p><p>He’s never <em>wanted</em> to stay in one place like this before.</p><p>It’s an exceedingly strange feeling.</p><p>Less strange is the urge he feels each night to creep upstairs to Jim’s room. He’s not sure if his purpose would be simply to look in on her, or to actually slip into her bed. Either way, he finds his nerve failing him each night as he stumps down the hall to his own dark bedroom.</p><p>He tells himself it’s just because he’s not sure which room is hers.</p><p>Not that it would be that difficult to find out.</p><p>Remarkably, it takes until his fifth day in the inn to realize that he’s not actually the last one to retire. Jim doesn’t clear out the bar until eleven, so he’s often up late washing the last of the dishes. He had assumed that she went to bed after seeing all the customers up the stairs or out the door, leaving the front of the inn dark and avoiding him in the process.</p><p>But on that fifth day, he notices there’s still light coming from the rear parlor as he makes his way to bed.</p><p>When he peers into the room, wondering if she perhaps forgot to extinguish all the lamps, it’s to find Jim hunched over an enormous ledger, scratching at it with a quill. Every so often, she pauses to tap her fingers on the page, lips moving silently, and he realizes she’s <em>counting</em>.</p><p>She was hopeless with numbers, back on their <em>Hispaniola</em>; clearly that hasn’t changed.</p><p>“Darlin’, you should’ve said you were stayin’ up late with the books,” he drawls, crossing to her desk and pulling the nearest chair close to her without asking. “Surely there’s better things you could be doin’ at this late hour than sums and expenses.” He doesn’t bother to keep the innuendo out of his voice; she should be well used to it by now, even with a six-year gap.</p><p>He plucks the quill out of her hand and turns the book so he can see the list of numbers. “You just tell me what each line is for and we’ll be done in no time.”</p><p>Jim’s frowning at him, and for a moment he thinks she might refuse, might tell him to get out. She’s always been so stubborn, especially when it comes to asking for help. But she’s got dark circles under her eyes and her hair is a mess; it only takes a moment for her to sigh and relent.</p><p>Her voice is low as she reads him the items on each line, quiet even though there’s no chance any of the guests upstairs will hear. It’s breathtakingly intimate, the way their heads lean towards one another over the page. Her knee knocks into his false one every so often, and in those moments, he would give up just about anything to have his true leg back, to be able to feel her warmth again. Sitting with her like this makes him want to take her hand, pull her into his lap, and pick up where they’d left off six years ago.</p><p>But he resists. Jim offered him a job, a bed, and a chance to know his son in one fell swoop. He won’t jeopardize any of that for what would likely be a single kiss. He wants so much more than that now.</p><p>When he finally sets the quill aside after the last calculation, Jim sighs in relief. “That took half the time it normally takes me,” she confesses, still in that low voice.</p><p>Silver smiles. “No offense meant, cabin girl, but you’ve always been hopeless at mathematics.”</p><p>That actually startles a laugh from her, and the urge to kiss her grows even stronger.</p><p>“Watch it, or I’ll make you come help me with the accounting every night,” she warns him with a grin as she rises from her seat. Her hand lands on his shoulder as she leans over to put out the lamps. Astonishing, how a simple touch can make a shiver go up his back.</p><p>Lit now only by moonlight, Jim turns back to look at him as she leaves the room. Her expression is unreadable. “Night, Silver.”</p><p>She’s long gone up the stairs by the time his mouth feels like it works again. “Good night, Jim.”</p><p>And so begins a new part to his routine.</p><p>After most of the supper guests have been served, he’ll bring food into the parlor for Jim and her son and anyone else who happens to be there. If it’s just the two Hawkinses, he’ll stay, telling the boy stories as they eat. Their subjects vary: his boyhood adventures, his time cooking at the Spy-Glass and other taverns in Bristol, his voyages across the Atlantic and back on a “merchant vessel”, always careful to avoid overt references to piracy. He tries to stick to the tamer tales, without too much blood or mayhem, which means they’re mostly ones Jim has already heard. But every so often, he sees her perk up at a new story, listening just as raptly as her son.</p><p>When the boy starts yawning, Jim will whisk him upstairs to bed while Silver returns to clean the kitchen. Once all the dishes are washed and the kitchen is ready for a new day, he slips back into the parlor to find Jim and her ridiculously large book waiting for him.</p><p>It’s not the intimacy he’d hoped to find when he came here, but it thrills him just the same.</p><p>Pathetic, lovesick fool that he is.</p><p>But this new routine only lasts five nights before Jim surprises him again.</p><p>It’s the end of his ninth day. He counts and re-counts them in his mind to make sure he doesn’t lose track. If this is all to end after two weeks, he won’t let it take him by surprise. His time may already be half up.</p><p>There’s nothing unusual in Jim’s behavior all day, no tells or signs that would have told him something was amiss. She takes her child to bed as she always does, already half-asleep in her arms. She smiles at him as normal when he joins her at her desk, and reads him the list just the way she has for the past three nights.</p><p>It’s when they’re finished that he turns his head to smile at her, only to be met with her mouth on his.</p><p>It’s soft and gentle, just a sweet pressing of her lips to his. Her hand comes up to cup his face, holding him still for only a moment before she pulls back. He barely has time to register and return the kiss before she’s gone again.</p><p>“Thank you,” she murmurs, and gives him another, even lighter, kiss.</p><p>These kisses are nothing like the first ones they exchanged six years ago. Those were full of haste and passion and worry, fraught with the tension that surrounded that whole bloody island.</p><p>These ones feel like a gift too precious to be wasted on him.</p><p>He’s too stunned to move as she leaves him this time, smiling shyly over her shoulder at him before she disappears.</p><p>His bed feels <em>very</em> empty when he sinks into it.</p><p>Silver lies awake most of the night, reliving her kisses, imagining what it might mean. Every possibility seems to occur to his racing mind, from Jim declaring undying love for him, to her saying it was a mistake and demanding that he pack his things at once. He eventually has to pull his pillow over his face to get it to stop, cursing every step that brought him back to England and this tiny inn, leaving him to be tormented by such a girl as her all over again.</p><p>He feels half-dead again as he moves around the kitchen the next morning, waiting on tenterhooks for the moment Jim appears in the doorway as she must. The boy manages to beat her to it in his quest for an extra scone and yet another story about Flint. The tale Silver comes up with this time is close to the truth, perhaps too close: he says something about once knowing the man who raised her from a chick. He merely wants to distract the lad, keep him long enough that his mother will come looking for him as she has done every morning so far.</p><p>But when the reminder of his lessons and chores does come, it arrives in the form of Abigail the laundress instead.</p><p>Silver is surprised at the sting he feels when he realizes she’s <em>avoiding</em> him. That’s far worse than anything he imagined in the night.</p><p>Avoidance can only mean one thing: shame.</p><p>And he is far too aware that she has every right to be ashamed of kissing him. He is hardly a catch for any woman, let alone one such as her.</p><p>It should make him angry—once upon a time, it might have made him seethe and rage—but now it just makes him worry.</p><p>Four days left.</p><p>Jim successfully avoids him for the rest of the day, even when he goes searching for her under the pretense of asking her to order a fresh supply of flour. She’s not in the parlor when he brings supper to the boy and tells him another story of life at the Spy-Glass. Nor is she there after everyone has retired for the evening; the room sits empty and dark, and it feels ominous in a way it never has before.</p><p>He pushes aside his disappointment and anger and worry to get some proper sleep. When he wakes to the pale gray light before dawn outside his window, he can almost convince himself he imagined her kissing him.</p><p>That is, until Jim reappears in the kitchen just after the breakfast rush is over.</p><p>He’s preoccupied enough with the dishes that she manages to sneak up on him. Before he even realizes she’s there, she grabs his soapy hand in hers and drags him to the cellar door. He’s steadier on the new leg than the one he had on the <em>Hispaniola</em>, but it’s not enough to prevent him from stumbling as she pulls him down the short flight of stairs to the packed earth below.</p><p>He has to stoop slightly to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. He only comes down here as needed, so it’s still unfamiliar to him in the half-light coming from the kitchen.</p><p>Then Jim closes the door behind them, plunging them into darkness.</p><p>“Jim, what the hell—” is all he manages before her small hands land on his chest. She pushes him back against one of the wooden support posts, and he feels splinters catch the fabric of his shirt. Her shove knocks the wind and his words out of him. He later reasons that’s the only excuse for why she manages to surprise him for a third time in as many minutes.</p><p>Her lips are much fiercer this time, pressing against his insistently until he starts kissing her back.</p><p>It’s so much more reminiscent of their kisses on the island, although being unable to see her is an added thrill he never would have anticipated.</p><p>She doesn’t quite fit into his hands the same way anymore, thanks to the slight curves that maturity and childbirth and consistent meals have given her. But it’s still undeniably <em>her</em>. Her hips, her waist, her arms, her shoulders—his hands can’t seem to decide which parts of her feel the best, because it all just feels <em>right</em>.</p><p>Her hands hold him against the post only until it’s clear he’s not about to move. Then, they tangle themselves in his hair, and he tries to repress a shudder at how wonderful it feels. She’s pressed close enough against his front, though, that she can’t miss him hardening in his breeches in response.</p><p>Jim breaks the kiss to laugh at his reaction, lips still brushing tantalizingly against his. His arms go around her waist in retaliation, trying to find out if she’s still ticklish. He does indeed find the spot on her back that makes her giggle and squirm against him. It’s reassuring to have proof that she hasn’t completely changed.</p><p>He thinks distantly he could happily die here in this moment.</p><p>“I missed you so much,” she breathes against his mouth before claiming it again. She doesn’t let him respond, barely letting him up for air as she kisses him, and kisses him, and <em>kisses him</em>.</p><p>Silver has no idea how much time passes. It could be a minute, an hour, or a year. All he knows is that Jim is back in his arms where she belongs, and he’s not going to let her go again.</p><p>When she does finally pull back, sudden and unexpected, it leaves him a bit disoriented.</p><p>He only realizes there must have been a knock on the cellar door when Jim calls back, “Yes, Sara?”</p><p>He feels smug when he hears that her voice is slightly shaky.</p><p>The girl shouts something about a carriage at the front door, and Jim replies that she’ll be up in just a moment. He wants to protest, to tempt her into staying down here for another minute or perhaps forever, but her lips brush against his cheek before he can.</p><p>“Later,” she assures him sweetly.</p><p>He unconsciously echoes “Later,” still breathing harder than he’d like to admit. It makes her giggle again, and then she’s gone. He catches just one last glimpse of her, silhouetted in the cellar doorway as she slips out to go deal with the new guests.</p><p>He takes just another moment to sigh and scrub his hands over his face, willing away the tent in his trousers. Where on <em>earth</em> she learned to kiss like that in the past six years is a mystery that he has to push away before he thinks about it too hard. He mounts the stairs slowly, turning his thoughts back to more pedestrian concerns. More guests mean more to cook for supper, and he mentally starts thinking of all he has yet to do today.</p><p>One more surprise awaits him in the kitchen, however. He turns back to the sink and finds Sara still standing there. He swears under his breath.</p><p>But all the girl does is look him up and down, raise one eyebrow, and shrug. “Could be worse,” is her cryptic appraisal. Then she’s gone with a sniff and a whirl of her blonde plait out the door.</p><p>He doesn’t see Jim again for the rest of the day, but her kisses leave him in high enough spirits that he doesn’t care. Whatever she’s thinking, she’s clearly not avoiding him any longer. That must be a good thing.</p><p>The additional guests mean that it takes him a bit longer to finish dishing out all the food, so he’s late when he brings the supper tray to the parlor. He has to stop, taken aback, when he enters the room.</p><p>Usually, Jim and her son share the small sofa, while he takes the cushioned chair closer to the hearth. It allows him to stretch out his leg as he talks, and the boy often nods off on Jim’s shoulder before she takes him to bed.</p><p>Tonight, however, the child is already curled up in the chair, carefully reading a page of text aloud to his mother, while Jim sits in her usual spot darning a sock. Silver sets the tray on the small table as usual, then glances from the sofa to the two hard-backed chairs at Jim’s desk on the other side of the room. Jim catches his eye and smiles faintly while her son continues to read.</p><p>So he carefully settles himself next to her. The sofa isn’t large, but he tries to preserve a gap between them, for the sake of the child if not his own sanity. Jim ruins his efforts, however, as she leans over him to hand a plate to her son and then pick up her own food. Her thigh ends up pressed along his when she regains her seat, and her smile this time when he meets her gaze is more mischievous.</p><p>Silver has to tear his gaze away from hers when the boy begs for a new story, one about sailing and ships and adventure. He gladly obliges, using the story as a distraction for himself as much as anything.</p><p>Both Jim and her son eat uncommonly fast. Part of him wants to be amused at how quickly they wolf down their food, while the other half is furious that either of them has ever had to worry about food being scarce. He himself takes longer to finish his meal, focused as he is on telling his tales. Halfway through, he chokes on a mouthful when Jim’s hand lands innocently on his thigh. In the midst of regaining his speech, he mentally curses whoever taught her to be such a <em>tease</em> in the years since he knew her.</p><p>She didn’t learn such things from <em>him</em>, did she?</p><p>Thankfully, Jim stops tormenting him soon after, when the boy starts yawning. All she does is rest her hand on his shoulder for a moment before collecting her son to take him upstairs, but it’s enough to send heat into his belly and raise his hopes for the rest of the evening.</p><p>Silver distracts himself in her absence with cleaning the kitchen, perhaps a bit more thoroughly than previous nights. He refuses to return to her in the parlor while he’s still swooning like a lovesick swain; let her come to him instead this time.</p><p>But once he’s wiped down all of the counters for a third time, he has to admit that she doesn’t seem inclined to seek him out. So, pausing only for a moment to straighten his braid and check his shirt for stains, he heads back to the parlor.</p><p>Which is dark, again.</p><p>His hands clench into fists as he can’t hold back his annoyance any longer. He won’t let her <em>trifle</em> with him like this, like he’ll do whatever she wants just for another kiss. He should just go up to her room and take what he wants, because she clearly wants it as well…</p><p>Growling under his breath, he stomps back to his tiny room.</p><p>He fumes for ages, thinking that perhaps he won’t stay after all. Surely, he could find work again in Bristol, and surely it would pay better than this. Eventually he falls asleep, trying to imagine if Jim would be glad or upset to see him go.</p><p>He wakes what must be only a short while later, for it’s still the dead of night. But there’s a presence in his room, and he instinctively pulls out the knife he keeps under his pillow.</p><p>“Get back!”</p><p>“It’s only me, Silver.”</p><p>The point of the knife drops at Jim’s voice, though his hand doesn’t slacken as he remembers his frustration with her.</p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>She could be a ghost, pale in a white nightgown and blue robe. She hovers just inside his closed door, hands behind her back as she watches him.</p><p>“I’ve made up my mind,” she says quietly, determinedly, stepping towards his bed. Her fingers fumble with the tie of her robe until it falls to the floor, followed swiftly by the robe itself.</p><p>Silver drops the knife. It clatters to the floor between them and slides under the bed.</p><p>He’ll worry about finding it later.</p><p>“About what?” he asks hoarsely, traitorous hope returning again.</p><p>Jim pulls back the blanket covering him, exposing his bare chest and his drawers, one leg sewed shut below his stump. “About us.” She swiftly straddles him, hiking up her nightgown to do it.</p><p>All of the blood in his brain seems to rush southwards as he notices she doesn’t have anything on underneath.</p><p>“And?” he asks, hands skimming up her thighs to find her hips under the folds of her nightgown. “Cabin girl?”</p><p>Jim sighs at the old familiar name, and he hopes it’s a good sigh. It seems to be, given the way she leans down to give him a kiss. It’s gentle, soft, more like the ones in the parlor than the cellar, but she rubs against him through his drawers as she does it. He can feel how wet she is, and it makes him groan.</p><p>She laughs softly as she sits back up and strips off her nightgown.</p><p>Amazing, to think that he’s wanted her, dreamt of her, for so long, and yet he’s never actually seen her breasts before. He reaches for them before he can stop himself.</p><p>Her hands grab his wrists before he gets there.</p><p>“Call me cabin girl again,” she orders, voice soft, and he knows he’s done for.</p><p>When Silver wakes, it’s to find the sun already half risen and Jim nowhere in sight. His instinct is to shrug it off as yet another dream, a wonderful conjuration of a mind that has been caught on her for too long. Except his dreams have never been quite so… <em>vivid</em>, nor have they involved her taking charge quite the way she had last night. He never imagined his Jim to be quite so knowledgeable or… <em>demanding</em>.</p><p>As he bends to put on his false leg, he discovers his proof, for the blue sash of her robe still lies crumpled at the foot of his bed. Grinning, he tugs off the usual red cloth he keeps tied about his neck and replaces it with the scrap of blue.</p><p>He whistles an old shanty as he makes his way to the kitchen, not caring if anyone else might already be awake. It’s still early, there’s hardly any clouds in the sky, his muscles ache in that wonderful way that can only mean a truly spectacular tumble, and perhaps he might be able to steal Jim away to the cellar again later.</p><p>The woman herself is working in his kitchen when he finds her, and she grins at his approach.</p><p>“Someone’s happy,” she teases him, just as she used to in their tiny galley. His only response is that which he dared not do back then: to grab her waist and kiss her deeply, until they both have to gasp for air. Jim laughs and pulls herself from his grip once she regains her breath. “Not here, John’ll be down any minute.”</p><p>Silver smirks, but holds his hands up in surrender. The boy doesn’t need to see such things, not at his young age. “Later, then? This prize I found in my bed this mornin’ could be useful for all sorts of things,” he leers, fingers tugging on the end of her sash around his neck.</p><p>Jim’s eyes dart to the fabric, then narrow slightly. “I wondered where that had gone.” She grins. “You can keep it, for now, I suppose, since it suits you. But I’ll be wanting it back eventually.”</p><p>“Just ask, darlin’, an’ I’ll give you anythin’ you want.” His fingers find the ticklish spot on her back again as he passes behind her to start heating water for tea. Jim jumps, giggling, and then tosses a handful of flour at him.</p><p>“Behave, or you won’t get any of my scones,” she chides, though the effect is slightly ruined by her continued laughter and the streak of flour across her cheek. He had wondered what the smell was, and now wonders how early she left his bed in order to get such a head start on him.</p><p>“I’ll behave, so long as you do,” he replies, grinning a bit more wickedly.</p><p>Jim’s cheeks are pink as she bends over the stove to pull out her handiwork, but it’s unclear if it’s from the heat of the fire or his words.</p><p>He moves seamlessly around her as he makes tea and fetches mugs. She leaves the scones to cool on the counter, then collects some raspberry preserves and places it all on the small kitchen table. It feels like old times, dancing around each other, even though they’ve never done it in this kitchen before.</p><p>Silver catches her smiling at him each time their gazes meet.</p><p>When they finally settle next to each other at the table, her foot finds his real ankle and hooks around it. That small bit of contact is comforting, which in itself is strange, for he’s not usually one to seek out comfort.</p><p>“I’ll be going to Bristol with Thomas today to fetch some supplies. Can John stay in the kitchen with you?”</p><p>The way she asks it is so casual, but it makes his heart jolt. So far, all of his interactions with the boy have been with her in the same room or accidental encounters while he’s been working. That she would leave him in his care, purposely, rather than with Abigail or someone else, feels momentous.</p><p>Perhaps he will get to stay longer than his two remaining days.</p><p>Silver swallows his mouthful of tea hastily. “Of course, Jim. He’ll be fine in here with me.” He grins. “I’ll load him up with sweets an’ tell him all about Tortuga an’ my adventures there.”</p><p>Jim laughs.</p><p>“He’s got plenty of reading to do, so you might not even notice him. Or you might be forced to accept his help as your new assistant. All depends on what mood he’s in.” She’s got a bit of raspberry on the corner of her mouth, and that’s enough temptation to draw him in to kiss her once again.</p><p>Their lips slide together easily now, as if they hadn’t had a six-year gap.</p><p>The sound of movement upstairs is what finally forces them apart, just as he thinks he might be able to coax her down to the cellar before her departure. Their overnight guests will be wanting their own breakfast soon.</p><p>Jim kisses his cheek softly before rising from her seat. “I’ll go and wake John.” She slips up the back stairs as he clears their dishes and sets about cooking the first meal of the day. He can’t resist the urge to whistle again as he works, still floating on the euphoria of having her in his bed. Not even the arrival of Thomas can dampen his spirits, although he whisks Jim’s scones out of reach before the young man can take one. He’ll save those for himself to indulge in later.</p><p>The boy is still yawning slightly as Jim brings him and Flint into the kitchen. She gets the bird settled on her perch by the door and then him settled at the small table. Silver watches from across the room as she smooths his hair away from his forehead and kisses it. “Now, you obey Mr. John while I’m away, alright sweetheart? Don’t bother him too much while he’s working, and make sure you do as he asks if he lets you help cook.”</p><p>“I will, Mummy,” the boy mumbles, clearly not entirely awake yet, and across the table Thomas snickers into his bowl of porridge.</p><p>Just for that, Silver sets one of Jim’s scones slathered in raspberry preserves in front of the lad, raising an eyebrow at Thomas when he looks like he might protest the unfairness. Jim hastily stifles a laugh at her stable-hand’s expression before returning to Silver’s side at the stove.</p><p>“I don’t know how late we’ll be, but don’t let John stay awake until we return,” she warns him quietly. “Sara can clear out the dining room without me, if you can make sure he’s in bed by nine o’clock at the latest. Don’t let him eat any sweets too late, or he’ll be even worse than this tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Her tone is suspiciously unconcerned, so much so that it only highlights the worry in her face even more.</p><p>Silver glances at the two boys sitting at the table, but they’re preoccupied with their own conversation, so he places a reassuring hand on Jim’s waist. “I’ll watch after him, darlin’. An’ I won’t even let him out of my sight all day. I swear on… Flint’s feathers.” Not strong enough, even if one of those was what brought him back to her attention. “The Bible?” Definitely not. “Polaris.” There, that should be sufficient.</p><p>Jim sighs, whether resigned or relieved he isn’t sure. But she goes up on her toes to kiss him briefly, pressing him back against the counter for a moment. “Lord knows I shouldn’t believe you, John Silver,” she says softly, “but I do.”</p><p>He catches sight of Thomas over Jim’s shoulder, looking at them with an amused expression. A scowl is enough to drive the young man to busy himself with his near-empty bowl again.</p><p>After another round of farewell kisses with her son, Jim drags Thomas out to the stable, and Silver returns his focus to cooking, keeping an eye on the boy still at the table. The scone is long gone, soon followed by eggs and bacon.</p><p>The lad actually manages to eat his entire breakfast before starting in on his questions for the day.</p><p>Surprisingly, it doesn’t feel all that different from previous days. Silver cooks and talks, the boy pipes up with a question or a story of his own every so often, and Flint occasionally chimes in with a shriek from her perch. The only missing piece is Jim’s intrusion into the kitchen to send her son off to study or clean his room.</p><p>That doesn’t mean that they are uninterrupted all day. Both Sara and Abigail make frequent stops in the kitchen throughout the morning: taking breakfast and then lunch out to customers, fetching extra supplies for the laundry, stopping for a conversation with the boy over a piece of toast. It only takes them two visits each for Silver to cotton on to the fact that they’re <em>checking</em> on him, likely making sure that the lad is still in one piece.</p><p>It’s annoying, but he thinks back to the hidden worry on Jim’s face. Better to prove them wrong than chase them off.</p><p>After lunch, he asks the boy if he’d like to help make the rolls for that evening’s supper, and receives an enthusiastic yes. It takes a bit of searching to find a stool tall enough for the boy to reach the counter, but Sara finally produces one from the attic with a fond smile.</p><p>Silver figures out quickly that he has to hold off on more stories as he shows him what to do, for the boy is like as not to simply watch his mouth move rather than his hands. But once he understands how to shape the dough into a proper ball, tucking the ends neatly underneath, he’s actually quite adept at it. The rolls are the right size for his small hands as well, and Silver applauds himself on the back for the foresight, even though he’d planned no such thing when he’d decided what to make for supper.</p><p>Once guests start arriving for supper, Silver has to steer the boy back to the table, which results in an unexpected tantrum.</p><p>“But I want to help!” the boy whines, stamping his foot. It reminds him so much of Jim for a moment, complaining about that bastard of a captain on their <em>Hispaniola</em> not letting her read his maps. Silver reminds himself that he has to be patient, and let the lad change his mind on his own.</p><p>“I know you want to help, but I promised your mum that I wouldn’t let you get hurt. Besides, Sara’s goin’ to be swingin’ back and forth through that door as she takes food out to the customers. Neither of us want to bump into you, an’ you don’t want that neither, do you?”</p><p>The boy’s stubborn expression is entirely Jim’s, and Silver scrambles for a different solution. “Say, why don’t you read me some from your book? Your mum’ll tan my hide if she finds out you didn’t practice your readin’ all day. Do us a favor, an’ read to me for a bit.” A conspiratorial grin, and the boy’s stubbornness starts to melt.</p><p>“All right, Mr. John,” he finally agrees, “but I want two more stories after!”</p><p>Ever the haggler, Silver thinks proudly, before accepting his terms aloud.</p><p>Thankfully, the boy stays out from underfoot as Silver finishes cooking dinner. It’s easier to stay with him in the kitchen to eat their own supper together, and he can’t even mind when a small, errant foot knocks into his false leg. A new story about a woman who’d once come to the Spy-Glass looking for her betrothed entrances the boy as he eats, although he soon starts to nod off, just like every night.</p><p>Silver clears their dishes and then returns to the boy’s side. “Come on, lad, time for bed,” he coaxes gently with a hand on the boy’s shoulder.</p><p>He yawns and holds up his arms, clearly expecting to be picked up.</p><p>Silver hesitates for a long moment. He’s not done anything more than pat the boy on the head or the shoulder so far. But Jim had clearly said to put him to bed on time, so that’s what he’ll do.</p><p>Bending a bit awkwardly with his leg, he carefully lifts the child into his arms. He’s not as heavy as he’d expected, and it’s easy to carry him up the back stairs to his room. Cradled against his chest, it feels like he fits perfectly, with his head resting on Silver’s shoulder.</p><p>Silver pushes such thoughts away as emotional nonsense.</p><p>The boy’s voice is slightly muffled against his shirt. “You still owe me another story,” he says drowsily.</p><p>Silver laughs as he sets the boy down on his bed. “I suppose I do,” he agrees, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed to help the lad take off his boots and slip under his blankets. “What story do you want, hmm? Another sailing adventure on the high seas?”</p><p>The boy doesn’t reply for a long while, and Silver thinks he might have fallen asleep. Then, in the smallest of voices:</p><p>“Did you know my Da, Mr. John?”</p><p>Silver freezes, staring at the wall opposite. If he’s not mistaken, Jim’s actually hung a new drawing of the old map on her son’s wall. It must be new, for it hasn’t got the bullet hole that Killigrew had put in it while aiming at her on his orders.</p><p>But not even thinking about the cursed island is enough to make him forget Jim’s conditions, the thing she made him swear to above all else before letting him stay.</p><p>
  <em>…you don’t say <strong>anything</strong> about who his father is…</em>
</p><p>“What makes you ask that, lad?” he asks, half-laughing, trying not to let paranoia bleed into his tone. He knows he hasn’t said anything about his own identity, nothing that would let the boy know.</p><p>“Well…” His face is screwed up in concentration; he’s clearly thought about this quite a bit. “Mummy says you’re an old friend, and Flint knew you straight away when you showed up. And you said you used to know the man who raised her. And Mummy always said she belonged to my Da before she came to live here with us! So you must have known him!”</p><p>Smart-as-paint, just like his mother. And just as like to jump to hasty conclusions.</p><p>Silver doesn’t want to disobey Jim, but he also can’t resist those pleading eyes. Having grown up without a father, he hates the idea of his son thinking he’s dead.</p><p>“I knew him,” he says slowly. “We sailed together, a long time ago. Just before he met your mum.”</p><p>John hangs on his every word, and he knows he must tread carefully now. Better that the boy believe a lie than know the disappointing truth. “He was… a good man. Not good enough to deserve your mum,” he scoffs, but quickly recovers himself. “But he loved her a great deal, more than he would ever admit to anyone.”</p><p>He awkwardly rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder through his blankets. “He—He would be so proud to know what a fine boy you are. And I’m sure, if he were… if he were still around, he’d love you just as much as your mum does.”</p><p>A heavy weight fills his chest as he speaks, and he wonders distantly if that’s what being a father feels like.</p><p>Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.</p><p>John’s smiling into his pillow now, well on his way to sleep. “Thank you, Mr. John,” he mumbles, and it’s all Silver can do to put out the lamp next to his bed before stumbling from the room.</p><p>He only came here to find Jim again.</p><p>He never expected to find more than that.</p><p>He barely pays attention to any of his remaining chores for the evening, working on instinct more than anything else. He can’t shake the hopeful expression on John’s face when he’d asked about his father. The boy had clearly been thinking about it for days, and just as clearly had waited until they were alone to ask. Does he suspect his mother hasn’t been truthful about his father’s identity? Jim should be told that John wants to know more, even if it’s something she doesn’t want to hear.</p><p>Lost in his thoughts, Silver collapses into his bed and falls into a fitful sleep.</p><p>Some time later, he wakes to Jim wriggling her way into his arms, clad only in the shirt he’d discarded. He’s already used to her presence, he thinks with sleepy amusement. It feels right to hold her like this.</p><p>“Go back to sleep,” she murmurs and drops a kiss on his bare shoulder.</p><p>It’s so easy to obey her, even though he has a nagging feeling there was something he meant to tell her. He’ll remember it by the morning.</p><p>Jim is gone again when he wakes for real, his shirt draped across the end of the bed. It can hardly have taken on her scent, after only a handful of hours, but he still imagines it smells like her when he pulls it back on.</p><p>She’s not in the kitchen either, which is a bit disappointing after their intimate breakfast the day before. But as much as he wants her all to himself, Jim has other commitments besides him. And he can’t begrudge her wanting to see her son after being gone an entire day.</p><p>The eggs could do with some extra spices and cheese this morning, he decides, making them more exciting to match how invigorated he feels. He starts whistling automatically as he works, thinking about taking Jim down to the cellar or perhaps for a tumble in the stable loft later. She might even let him into her bed by now, which surely would be more comfortable than the narrow one in his room.</p><p>Jim’s voice from the doorway interrupts his thoughts.</p><p>“John says you told him about his father last night.”</p><p>His whistle dies mid-note and he suddenly remembers what it was he meant to tell her.</p><p>“It wasn’t anythin’ particular, darlin’,” he says quickly, turning to look at her. Her arms folded over her chest, a scowl on her face, and he’s not sure if he’s ever actually seen her this angry. Perhaps at some point in the middle of the mutiny, but he thinks she had mostly looked sad and disappointed more than anything else back then.</p><p>Silver forces his thoughts back to the present. “The lad just asked if I knew his Da—”</p><p>“So you just decided to tell him?” Jim cuts him off coldly. “When I expressly told you not to say anything about it?”</p><p>“I didn’t tell him the truth!” Silver argues, his own ire rising now in response to hers. “Just some—some <em>nonsense</em> about knowing him back in the day!”</p><p>Jim starts shaking her head before he’s even finished speaking, looking away from him in fury. “I don’t care if you told him his father was the King of England, you shouldn’t have said anything at all!” She uncrosses her arms, but only so she can ball her hands into fists.</p><p>A distant part of him notes that her hands are shaking, and wonders if it’s from anger or something else.</p><p>“Jim, I—”</p><p>“I can’t trust you.” Her words feel like a physical slap, and he rocks back onto his heels. “I let you stay, against… against <em>everyone’s</em> better judgment, so I could figure out if I could trust you. And I can’t.”</p><p>Her voice breaks on the last word, and despite everything said before that, it’s enough to make him take a step towards her, hand outstretched.</p><p>Jim’s cold eyes snap back to him. “There’ll be a coach to Bristol passing through before lunch. You’d better be on it, or I swear I’ll…” She cuts off, clearly trying to think of something horrible enough.</p><p>Silver takes advantage of her pause to try again to explain. “Darlin’, just let me—"</p><p>“Stop.” She’s glaring at him now, but her eyes are suspiciously shiny. “Don’t call me that. You gather your things, get out of my inn, and stay away from my son. I don’t ever want to see you again.”</p><p>And with that, she turns on her heel and storms out of the kitchen.</p><p>Silver stares dumbly after her for a moment.</p><p>Part of him wants to go after her, pull her into his arms, and kiss her until she lets him explain that he was only trying to satisfy the boy’s curiosity before he dug too deep. It was the best thing to do in the long run, and the boy was happy with the lie, so no harm done.</p><p>Another part of him spitefully says fine, if she’s going to throw him out, he’ll take whatever he wants before he goes. There’s sure to be plenty of valuables in her rooms upstairs, and he knows now where she keeps the guests’ coin in her desk. She owes him nearly two weeks’ worth of pay, after all, since the payment he’d thought he would be getting from between her legs will no longer be forthcoming.</p><p>But mostly he just feels… adrift.</p><p>For the first time in his life, he has no purpose. No goal. For so long, it was notoriety, and gold – Flint’s trove being the pinnacle of that dream. Then, it was Jim Hawkins’ bed and heart.</p><p>Now…</p><p>He has nothing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm sorry.</p><p>Interlude 2 and Part 3 coming soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Interlude 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A different perspective.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mummy is my favorite person in the whole world.</p>
<p>Abigail says I’m being silly when I say things like that, but it’s true! I can’t imagine liking anyone at all in the entire world more than I like Mummy.</p>
<p>I like Flint too, of course. But she’s a bird, so I don’t think she actually counts as a person.</p>
<p>Mummy is the best person because she gives me kisses and talks to me and makes me feel better when I get hurt. She’s smart and pretty and she gives me the best hugs whenever I have bad dreams.</p>
<p>Mummy calls me her “little stowaway” sometimes. Aunt Diana gets a funny look any time Mummy calls me that, though. When I asked Mummy what a stowaway was, she said it’s someone who’s good at sneaking. I like that, because I’m good at sneaking too! I almost always win when Flint and I play hide-and-seek. Mummy is terrible at hiding when she plays with me.</p>
<p>I wish I’d gotten to play hide-and-seek with Mr. John. I think he would be great at it! Mr. John has so many stories about sneaking, I think he might be a stowaway too. I miss his stories. Mummy says he had to leave, but she doesn’t know where he went.</p>
<p>Mr. John tried to tell me to call him Silver. But I don’t know why he would want to use his last name when he has the same name as me! Aunt Diana always says it’s a good thing that John is a common name, which I don’t really understand. Mr. John says it’s an ordinary name and that’s why he picked Silver as his other name. I didn’t know people are allowed to pick their own names!</p>
<p>I asked Mummy once if I could call him Uncle John, just like Uncle Ben and Uncle Squire. She said that wasn’t a good idea, and that it would be better if I just called him Mr. John.</p>
<p>I think Mummy misses Mr. John. Mummy pretends like she’s happy, but I can tell she’s sad a lot of the time now since Mr. John left. She looks sad sometimes just like she does when I ask about my Da. I think that if Mr. John were here again, she would be happy again.</p>
<p>Maybe, if I can figure out where Mr. John went, I can ask him to come back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can you tell I have very little experience with children? What kind of vocabulary do six-year-olds have, anyways? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Part 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Silver’s always liked the feel of a meat cleaver in his hand. It’s sturdier and sharper than most other knives, be they kitchen knives or daggers. It cuts cleanly through just about anything—meat, tendons, bones, fat—turning many a messy carcass into a satisfying meal under his hand.</p>
<p>It’s a shame he can’t use it to cut through the mess between him and Jim Hawkins.</p>
<p>The cleaver makes such a satisfying <em>thunk</em> each time it hits the wooden board in front of him. It’s a sound that he probably shouldn’t find as comforting as he does. This is work, good and honest work, and for the first time in years, he doesn’t feel the need to look over his shoulder every minute.</p>
<p>Most everyone he knows thinks he’s dead. Those that know better… well. It’s not likely they’ll ever come looking for him. Especially not in a place like this.</p>
<p>The landlady of the Spy-Glass may actually be a saint for taking him back so suddenly (<em>again</em>). But there’s no clearer sign to him that her mind is going than the fact that she bought two whole pigs for him to butcher this week.</p>
<p>(The woman’s pushing ninety by now, at least. He’d thought her impossibly old already when he first met her nearly twenty years ago. Now, she looks as if a gust of wind might knock her over, but she still welcomed him back to her kitchen with open arms and no questions about where he’s been for the past seven years.)</p>
<p>How on earth she expects him to cook up this much meat, <em>and sell it</em>, is a mystery, as the number of customers visiting the Spy-Glass has dwindled drastically since the last time he worked here. The best he can do is salvage as much of the pork as possible before it goes bad. He’s already planning to cook some of it up to give to the gaggle of street urchins who go through the inn’s garbage looking for scraps. He pointedly does <em>not</em> think of the hungry expression on Jim’s thin face back in their old galley as he wonders what they might like the most.</p>
<p>As much as he tries to avoid them, thoughts of Jim aren’t far from his mind, these days. It’s been almost two months since she threw him out of her inn, far longer than the time he spent there, far less than the time he was without her before that. And yet, his mind still insists on reliving seemingly every moment to figure out what he could have done differently. What he <em>should</em> have done differently.</p>
<p>His thoughts only ever seem to settle on two conclusions:</p>
<p>He should have known that Jim wouldn’t be so easy to seduce a second time.</p>
<p>And he should have run the moment he found out about John.</p>
<p>One of the most shocking things in the last two months has been the discovery that he longs to see John again, just as much as he longs to make things right with Jim. He never thought he could feel so attached to one person, let alone two.</p>
<p>(He wonders what Jim told the boy about his sudden absence. The truth? Could she even tell him the reason “Mr. John” left without revealing the secret she seems determined to keep buried?)</p>
<p>It’s disconcerting, to say the least, how often the lad slips into his thoughts now. He’s even dreamt of taking him and his mother out to sea, teaching him about the stars, seeing him grow into a young man with a brighter future than he himself ever had.</p>
<p>All pointless, now.</p>
<p>He could swear he’s seen the boy around town a couple of times. But the small figure always manages to dart down an alley or disappear around a corner before he can get a proper look.</p>
<p>Perhaps that’s why he has to look twice when he spots him standing in the doorway of the tavern.</p>
<p>It can’t be him. Just another dream.</p>
<p>Then a rustle of wings, and there’s Captain Flint, perched on her old stand in the corner of the kitchen as if she never left. She screeches, far too loud, and Silver drops the cleaver on the board with a swear.</p>
<p>“Mr. John!”</p>
<p>The lad nearly topples him as he rushes into the room and hugs him around the nearest part he can reach, which just so happens to be the false leg. Silver stumbles but catches himself, one hand on the counter.</p>
<p>“John? What the h—What on earth are you doing here? Where’s Jim?”</p>
<p>The small, sandy-haired head moves ever so slightly side-to-side. When the boy looks up at him, Silver recognizes that guilty bite of the lower lip.  Another habit he inherited from his mother.</p>
<p>“I came to find you.” It’s a bold statement, even if it’s said with a shamefaced expression. “Flint helped me, and the pretty ladies by the ships! I said I was looking for the Spy-Glass, and they told me how to find it!”</p>
<p>His words prompt more questions than they answer, and Silver can feel a headache rapidly building, not helped by the boy’s continued clinging to his bad leg. “Hold on, lad, slow down.” He hastily wipes his bloody hands on his apron and pulls it off. That out of the way, he gently dislodges the small hands from his leg and collapses on the nearby bench. “Start from the beginnin’, John. How did you even get to Bristol?”</p>
<p>Without any hesitation, the boy clambers up to sit in his lap, thankfully perching on his good knee. “It’s my birthday,” he says with a tone as if Silver should have remembered it. Never mind that Jim never actually mentioned a date. “Well, actually, <em>tomorrow</em> is my birthday. But Mummy and I are here on holiday for the whole week!”</p>
<p>The fact that Jim is apparently in the city as well fills him simultaneously with relief and trepidation.</p>
<p>(At least the boy didn’t travel all the way from Black Cove on his own with nothing but a parrot as a chaperone.)</p>
<p>“Does your mum know you came to find me?” He can guess the answer, given the boy’s explanation for how he found the tavern. It’s odd, having him in his lap like this, but it also somehow feels perfectly natural to place a hand on his shoulder to steady him.</p>
<p>Slowly, John shakes his head again with a remorseful expression. “I didn’t want her to say no,” is his feeble attempt at an explanation.</p>
<p>And there it is. Jim still clearly wants nothing to do with him, and doesn’t want her son to know him either. Then why…?</p>
<p>“Why did you come to find me, John?” He tries to keep his voice gentle, but the memory of Jim’s anger gives it an uncomfortable edge. “‘specially if your mum didn’t want you to.”</p>
<p>(As much as he grew to care for the boy while he was staying at the Benbow, it’s not as if they developed an especially strong bond. He’d not even said goodbye, not after Jim had dismissed him so abruptly.)</p>
<p>Those bright eyes suddenly fill with tears, threatening to spill over, and small arms fling themselves around Silver’s neck. “Be--Because I miss you!” the boy cries. “I don’t know why you left, Mr. John, but I miss you, and I know Mummy misses you too!”</p>
<p>Silver’s about to brush his worries off with some soothing words, but John’s last statement gives him pause. The lad sounds so sure of Jim’s feelings, and yet they’re so opposite how she felt when he last saw her. Instinctively, he rubs a hand over the boy’s back, trying to get him to calm down more than anything. “John, I’m sure your mum is fine without me. I was only there for two weeks. She’s got more important things to deal with.”</p>
<p>John sniffs and sits back to rub the tears from his eyes. “But Mummy was so <em>happy</em> when you were with us. She was sad sometimes, before you showed up. But then she was happy with you. And now she’s sad again! So you should come back and make her happy again!”</p>
<p>(The boy’s thought process is so <em>simple</em>, he thinks in the back of his mind, but he is startlingly good at putting two and two together and coming up with four. Smart-as-paint, indeed.)</p>
<p>“I don’t think me comin’ back to the inn is goin’ to make Jim happy, lad.” Silver carefully lifts the boy off his knee and deposits him on the bench next to him before limping back to his counter. There’s an uncomfortable tightness in his chest as he remembers Jim’s parting words to him. “Your mum <em>told</em> me to leave, John. She don’t want me to come back.” He picks the cleaver back up to clean it, aiming for a distraction from his whirling thoughts, but is annoyed to find his hands shaking.</p>
<p>The boy tries to protest, still looking at him with those wide eyes. “But, Mr. John—”</p>
<p>“I’ve told you before, my name is Silver,” he says, sharp enough to make the boy clam up. His eyes swim with tears again and his lower lip trembles.</p>
<p>Silver sighs and rubs a hand over his face, trying to ignore the ache in his chest at the heart-wrenching despair on that small face. “I’m sorry, boy. But I’m not comin’ back. I’ll help you find your way back to your mum, but that’s it.”</p>
<p>But apparently, that’s even worse than his reprimand.</p>
<p>John starts crying in earnest now, the sort of sobs that can’t be contained, the tears of a small child who just doesn’t understand <em>why</em>.</p>
<p>(Silver is very familiar with that sort of crying. His memories are mostly shadow now, but <em>why</em> was never a question his own mother cared to answer.)</p>
<p>“John, I’m—” he starts, taking a step back towards him, only to be cut off by a raised voice from the doorway.</p>
<p>“How <em>dare</em> you!”</p>
<p>The gods must be laughing at him, Silver swears, as he turns to face Jim Hawkins.</p>
<p>“Jim.” He manages a smile at her, as if their son isn’t sobbing his heart out in between them. He realizes he’s still holding the bloody cleaver in one hand and hastily sets it aside. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes—"</p>
<p>“Get away from him!” Jim rushes to her son, crouching in front of him so she can wipe tears from his cheeks and pull him into her arms. “John, sweetheart, I was so worried, you disappeared and I had no idea where you had gone…” She keeps up the soothing words as she kisses his cheeks, his hair, and manages to throw a scowl in Silver’s direction once or twice over the boy’s head.</p>
<p>Silver rolls his eyes and retreats until he can lean against the counter. In the corner, Flint rustles her feathers and remarks “<em>pieces of eight”</em> in a mocking voice that makes him grimace.</p>
<p>Once John’s sobs have mostly subsided into hiccups, Jim regains her feet, glaring solidly at him. “I can’t imagine how you possibly found out when we would be here, or where we were staying, but rest assured we will be going home to Black Cove tonight. I told you to stay away from my son, and yet you try to <em>kidnap</em> him in broad daylight—!”</p>
<p>Now <em>that</em> is an accusation he won’t stand for. “<em>Kidnap!?”</em> he snaps, glaring in turn. “I’ve never done nothin’ of the kind! The boy came to find <em>me</em>, all on his own!” Flint screeches behind him and he adds, “With nothing but this bloody parrot watchin’ him! Sounds like <em>you’re</em> the one who can’t keep an eye on him!”</p>
<p>Jim bristles, hands clenched into fists, and he has half a moment to wonder if she might actually hit him.</p>
<p>But a small hand catches her sleeve, and an even smaller voice says, “I’m sorry, Mummy. I wanted to see Mr. John. I know I shouldn’t have run away.”</p>
<p>The boy sounds so sad and ashamed, it distracts Jim from her rage. “You--?” She swallows hard, sinking onto the bench next to him. “Darling, how on earth did you know how to find him? You’ve never even been to Bristol before!”</p>
<p>John sniffs and his hold tightens on her sleeve. “He always talked about working at the Spy-Glass. I just asked the pretty ladies if they knew where it was. They laughed but they said they liked my bird, and they showed me what street to go to. And then Flint knew right where to go!”</p>
<p>(Silver wonders if the “pretty ladies” were some of his old friends, back from when he used to spend time in the pleasure houses down by the docks. Of course, that was years ago, before the <em>Hispaniola</em>—before Jim. Still, they might have recognized Flint. Of all the people John could have asked, he’s thankful that the boy didn’t run into anyone who still actively hates him.)</p>
<p>Jim sighs and combs her fingers through her son’s hair, fruitlessly trying to neaten it. “Why did you even <em>want</em> to see him?” she asks, quietly exasperated.</p>
<p>(Silver tries not to take offense at that.)</p>
<p>“I told you, John, sweetheart, he decided to leave. You shouldn’t have come here.”</p>
<p>His ire over the accusation of kidnapping rises straight back to the surface. He opens his mouth angrily to retort that he in no way “decided” to leave, but John manages to cut him off.</p>
<p>“But I heard you <em>crying</em>, Mummy.” The boy’s gaze is completely earnest as he clambers into his mother’s lap, and Silver’s anger dies in his throat. “You were so sad that he was gone. I don’t like it when you’re sad.”</p>
<p>(Perhaps he and his son share more traits than just a nose.)</p>
<p>The expression on Jim’s face is hard to pin down. Embarrassment, perhaps, but with some sadness or regret as well, he thinks. She darts a glance at him, cheeks coloring slightly, but quickly refocuses her attentions on her son. “Darling, I— I wasn’t crying about Mr. John leaving, I was—” She swallows thickly, caught.</p>
<p>Silver quietly leans back against the counter, arms folded over his chest, watching them. The way Jim holds her son in her arms, the gentleness with which his small hand pats her cheek comfortingly, the tenderness on her face as she closes her eyes and presses a kiss to his temple, the smile on his face as he hugs his mother.</p>
<p>He feels like more of an outsider than ever.</p>
<p>“For what it’s worth, Jim,” he says carefully, “I never meant to upset you. Or the lad. I thought I was helpin’, answerin’ his questions. He’s a smart boy, and he’ll start figurin’ things out one of these days. You might want to think about givin’ him some answers yourself, afore he starts doin’ his own mathematics.”</p>
<p>She meets his gaze over John’s head.</p>
<p>(He might be imagining it, but he thinks the regret in her expression intensifies for a moment.)</p>
<p>Jim lets out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Silver.”</p>
<p>He starts to make an offhand remark about being suspected (and guilty) of far worse than kidnapping in his time, but her next question makes all words disappear from his head.</p>
<p>“Do you want to come back?”</p>
<p>Two identical pairs of eyes look at him: one curious and excited, one accepting despite some lingering wariness.</p>
<p>“Come—back?” he echoes stupidly, staring at her. “To—to the Benbow? To cook?”</p>
<p>“If you like. I’ll even pay you this time, since I—forgot. Before.” Jim smiles wryly over her son’s head. John looks between them, a growing smile on his own face. He hops down off his mother’s lap and hurries over to hug Silver’s leg again, looking up at him pleadingly.</p>
<p>“Please, Mr. John? Please please <em>please</em> come back and stay with us?”</p>
<p>The <em>yes</em> is on the tip of his tongue, ready to slip out. He wants to go back to their cozy evenings of dinner and story-telling in front of the fire, and even cozier nights of Jim sneaking into his bed.</p>
<p>(The tiny bedroom off the Spy-Glass’ kitchen had served him perfectly well for years in between voyages. When he’d returned to it this time, it had seemed bleak and empty in a way that it never had before.)</p>
<p>But he swallows the word down. Gently but firmly, he pulls the boy’s hands off his leg and gives him a nudge back towards his mother. “Ah—no. Not sure that’s a good idea. And I’m nice and settled here, anyways. The Spy-Glass has been more of a home than any place for ages, I’m not about to leave it.”</p>
<p>He abruptly wishes he could take it back as the boy’s eyes glisten ominously and his lip trembles again.</p>
<p>(He can’t even bring himself to look at Jim.)</p>
<p>“You don’t want to come back?” The boy is obviously confused, and upset, and his fingers start fiddling with a button on his jacket. “Don’t you like us? And the inn?”</p>
<p>Silver grits his teeth to give himself a moment to come up with a halfway decent answer. “Course I like you, lad. And your mum’s doin’ a right fine job with that inn of hers. But you don’t want some old hopper hangin’ about. Your mum’ll find a new cook, maybe even one that has better stories than mine.”</p>
<p>Flint abruptly flutters onto his shoulder with a croak. It startles him enough that he forgets to avoid looking at Jim, who is now staring at the floor with an unreadable expression. The parrot tugs sharply on one of his braids and he swears, swatting at her even as she flaps back over to her perch.</p>
<p>“Come along, John,” Jim says abruptly, getting to her feet. “We’ve taken up far too much of Mr. Silver’s time, and we should be getting back to our lodgings for supper.” She won’t look at him even now, and his chest feels even tighter as he realizes he’s botched it up again.</p>
<p>John looks torn, but he knows better than to argue with his mother, and obediently takes her hand as she turns to go.</p>
<p>Hastily, (not panicking,) Silver blurts, “Course, I could be persuaded to come back. Under certain… conditions.”</p>
<p>Jim freezes. The boy looks confused, and her expression isn’t much better when she turns to look at him. “Conditions. Such as…?” she prompts.</p>
<p>He swallows thickly. “Such as. I—You know I’m a liar, Jim. Always have been, always will be. Just part of my nature, now.” He’s not sure he’s ever spun words together so quickly, and such important words at that. “Lyin’ has served me well, over the years. I’m not about to stop, not when it’s the only thing keeping certain interested parties off my back. But I’m not goin’ to lie to him.” He nods towards the boy, just to make his point clear. “He deserves to know, Jim. And I <em>want</em> him to know.”</p>
<p>That last sentence surprises him when it slips out, and it clearly surprises Jim as well, who’s now looking at him with wide eyes.</p>
<p>“Know what?” comes a small voice between them. John looks at each of them curiously.</p>
<p>(Silver momentarily thinks that, even if it wasn’t his intention with that statement, Jim is now going to have to accept his terms, or she’s going to have to come up with yet another lie to tell her son.)</p>
<p>“Are you sure you want that?” Jim actually ignores her son’s question, which is more startling than anything. “Are you absolutely sure that, if I tell him, you’ll stay? You won’t… You won’t run off in a month, or a year, once you get bored? I won’t have you take that responsibility and then disappear on me again.” Her voice is strained with emotion, her gaze fixed on his.</p>
<p>“Jim.” He frowns slightly, bothered by the fact that she still apparently doesn’t get it. “I spent six <em>years</em> fightin’ my way halfway around the world to find you again.” It’s an entirely honest confession, one he never thought he’d make. Someday he might tell her just how he got back to England, but not now. “I always meant to do whatever it took to keep you. Findin’ out about him was a surprise, alright, but not—not an unwelcome one.”</p>
<p>John tugs on first Jim’s hand, then Silver’s. “Know <em>what</em>?” he repeats with a whine, impatient, and Silver cracks a smile at that. He sounds just like Jim.</p>
<p>She appears to be able to read his thoughts as well as ever, a smile spreading over her own face and a choked laugh forcing its way out of her chest. “Alright,” she says quietly, sounding almost relieved.</p>
<p>Swiftly, she kneels back down in front of her son and places her hands on his shoulders. “Darling, you know I love you, right?”</p>
<p>The boy nods, familiar with whatever this routine is. “I love you too, Mummy.”</p>
<p>“I have something to tell you, and you have to understand, I thought it was true. I really thought he was dead, up until that night he showed up in our inn.” Jim’s voice cracks for a moment, and she swallows hard. John looks confused.</p>
<p>(Silver is, absurdly, holding his breath.)</p>
<p>“Mr. John is your father, sweetheart. He’s your Da. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”</p>
<p>John looks between them, a slight crease between his eyebrows as he takes it in. “He’s… He’s my Da?”</p>
<p>Silver shifts slightly under the weight of those bright eyes, suddenly aware of exactly how rough and unkempt he probably appears. Probably nothing at all like whatever image the boy has built up in his mind based on Jim’s stories.</p>
<p>And those eyes aren’t just bright now, they’re wet, and the boy bursts into tears again. Alarmed, Jim tries to pull him into her arms, with a, “Darling? What’s wrong?” but he pushes her away. Silver’s about to say something to get him to stop, perhaps that it was a joke, but the boy’s arms are suddenly locked around his leg for a third time.</p>
<p>“P—p—<em>please</em>,” he sobs, shoulders shaking, and Silver has absolutely no idea how to respond.</p>
<p>Even Jim seems dumbfounded as she rubs a hand over her son’s back. “Please, what, darling?” she murmurs, obviously trying to get him to calm down.</p>
<p>The boy shakes his head for a moment before finally giving in and looking at first his mother, then his father with damp eyes. “Please say you’re coming back! I missed you and I don’t want you to leave again! If you’re my Da, you’re supposed to be with us!”</p>
<p>Silver looks from his son to Jim, unsure exactly how to answer that. But Jim just sighs and kisses John’s temple, finally managing to coax him to release his hold.</p>
<p>“You’re right, John, he is supposed to be with us.” She smiles gently, encouragingly, as her son sniffs and calms down, rubbing at his eyes and nodding in agreement. Once most of his tears have stopped, Jim stands, then picks up her son with a soft <em>oof</em>. John’s arms automatically go around her neck as he continues staring at Silver. “So what do you say? Are you going to come be with us?”</p>
<p>The <em>yes</em> almost slips out, <em>again</em>, in the midst of his shock that it was so <em>easy </em>to get the boy to accept him. At the last moment before he can make a complete fool of himself, he remembers the other condition he’d meant to ask for.</p>
<p>“Does that include… other benefits?” He adopts his best roguish smile, the one that always made her melt back on their <em>Hispaniola</em>. “I’ll take what I can get, honest, but it’d be nice if we can keep that part up. Especially if it don’t have to be a secret anymore.”</p>
<p>(He might just be talking about the sex. But then again, he thinks back to those dreams of taking them both out on the sea. Of being a proper family with them. He had always sworn he would go to hell and back, twice, before he ever called himself a groom. But. He’d also called that cursed island <em>Hell</em> in his mind.)</p>
<p>Jim rolls her eyes at his statement, so he resigns himself for disappointment in that area. But then she steps in close again, wraps her free hand around the back of his head, and pulls him firmly down into a kiss.</p>
<p>John, still perched on her hip, makes noises of surprise and dismay, but Silver can’t much care when her tongue is doing <em>that</em>.</p>
<p>When she finally lets him go, it takes him a moment to open his eyes and regain control of his thoughts. Her expression is smug and expectant. “Any other ‘<em>conditions</em>’?” she asks teasingly.</p>
<p>“That’ll do for now,” he says, satisfied, smirking back at her.</p>
<p>“Does that mean you’re coming home?” John’s question is so hesitant that Silver has to give in and finally let that <em>yes</em> be heard.</p>
<p>“I think I will, yes. Since you asked.” He ruffles the boy’s hair for a moment, causing him to giggle.</p>
<p>(It’s a much nicer sound than his crying.)</p>
<p>Jim visibly relaxes at their son’s laughter. Silver finds himself relaxing as well, the tightness in his chest easing as he looks at them. He hesitates for a moment before dropping a kiss to her forehead and another to the top of John’s head. “I missed you too, son,” he admits, easier than he thought it would be.</p>
<p>John smiles shyly in response, and for the first time, Silver realizes it’s a bit crooked, just like his own. He gets caught, staring at it. He doesn’t know what the new feeling in his chest is, but it feels… nice, whatever it is.</p>
<p>(Later, he’ll realize that it was <em>wonder</em>, pure awe in sight of this child that is part Jim and part himself and yet completely his own person.)</p>
<p>(He’ll experience the same feeling in another six months, when Jim pointedly informs him that he’s managed to give her another little stowaway.)</p>
<p>The feel of Jim’s fingers lacing through his own distracts him, and he looks down at their clasped hands for a moment before meeting her gaze. “Alright?”</p>
<p>Flint chooses that moment to flap back onto his shoulder, screeching as she does. Silver grins at his family, fully and openly. “Absolutely perfect, darlin’.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for sticking through this with me. I think this is the end of this little AU, but who knows? ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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